


We're together now for evermore

by LisaB1991



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Love, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaB1991/pseuds/LisaB1991
Summary: This is how I envision the continuation of Beauty and the Beast, focusing in Belle and Adam's happily ever after (and any possible hardships along the way) as their 'tale as old as time' continues.





	1. Chapter 1

“We’re together now, it’s going to be fine.”

He slowly felt himself slip away. The physical pain was close to unbearable, and he instinctively knew he was fading. The darkness was already closing in on him, slowly but steadily. He had never thought it possible, that any pain would outweigh the pain he had experienced all those years ago, on that fateful night when _she_ had come into his life and turned it all upside down. The pain he had felt then, when she changed him into the creature he was still today, was nearly as indescribable as it was now.  
  
_He remembered how he staggered forward and fell to his knees once more. He remembered how he arched his back with a groan, his muscles and bones were instantly aching and protesting, and it felt as if his skin was ready to burst. Shortly after, he heard the sound of his expensive court dress ripping, the buttons falling on the floor. The screams from the debutantes and all the others who were there in the ballroom, who saw it transpire before their very own eyes, that was a sound he would never, ever forget. He tried to scream as well, to beg for forgiveness once more, but all he could hear was his own growling, instead of the rich, masculine voice that had once made maidens swoon and royal advisors approach him with the upmost caution._  
  
_He had reached then, trying to hold unto something, anything, but the man who stood closest to him, rooted to the spot, the man whose hand the young prince had tried to reach, suddenly jumped backwards as if he had burned himself, his expression repulsed, and he quickly fled the castle. As did all the others. The prince was all alone then, and as the transformation was finally completed, he could clearly hear the sobs of anguish and pain from the other side of the grand doors, where his servants had been watching._

 _He sat on his knees, motionless, in the middle of the ballroom. How he wished he would wake up from this horrible nightmare. But it wasn’t a nightmare. He wasn’t going to wake up. This was his new reality. And as if this knowledge, the excruciating pain and the heart wrenching sobs weren’t enough proof that this wasn’t some sort of sickening joke, he stretched out his arms with upturned palms. His hands were gone. Instead, two massive claws adorned with sharp, black nails came into sight; claws that had once been slender hands with long, graceful fingers and perfectly manicured nails._  
  
_The candlelight that had been used to illuminate the majestic room had been extinguished by the force of the storm and the transformation. Gone was the buzzing, stifling atmosphere. In its wake, darkness and despair remained. The prince, who had been transformed into a beast, brought his claws to his face, and wept. He wept like he had done so many years ago when his stern, merciless father had dragged him away from his mother’s deathbed._  
  
_Forgive me, Maman.._

He willed his eyes to focus on her, on her captivating brown eyes, on her tear-stained face. He _wanted_ to live, to gently wipe away those tears from her cheeks. How he wished he could reassure her that yes, he was going to be fine. That _they_ were going to be just fine.

“At least I got to see you.. one.. last time...”

The darkness finally swallowed him, and he reluctantly accepted it. Fighting death any longer was useless, and he knew it. Gone were his dreams and hopes for a better and brighter future. He drifted, and all was silent. Gone were the echoes of a faraway battle, gone was the sweet musical voice of the woman he loved.

 _Belle, forgive me. Please forgive me,_ mon amour _.._

As he continued to drift, he suddenly felt a comfortable, almost reassuring warmth settling over him, its pressure intense but far from stifling. It seemed to hug his skin tightly, and when it almost became unbearable it seemed to slowly drip through his skin, into his bones, muscles and veins. He felt his strength return to him, the pain in his side and back vanished, and whatever fatigue he must have felt disappeared just as quickly. He could hear his pulse in his ear once more, a steady and strong heartbeat. Within seconds, he felt that exact same heartbeat, along with the warmth, travel through his entire body, from his toes to the tip of his ears. He felt safe and secure. Reassured. No matter what he had done to deserve his fate, he knew instinctively that he had been forgiven, because for what other reason could he be experiencing this? Had his love for Belle been his redemption after all?  
  
_Belle._ The warmth gradually left his body, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. He realized he was standing up straight again, and he opened his eyes. What he saw then was unlike anything he had expected he would see. He was facing the snow-covered steps that led to the balcony which adjoined his rooms in the West Wing, and for the first time in years he could feel that the ground underneath his feet was actually cold to the touch. Looking down, he frowned in disbelief. He was still wearing the beast’s thin linen undershirt and breeches, but his limbs were no longer the hairy, appalling limbs of a beast. Those were his _legs_ , covered with soft human skin instead of thick fur. His hind paws had been replaced by human feet, and as he held up his arms to look at his hands, as if to reassure himself that they were no longer the claws of a monster but truly the hands of the man he used to be, he began to smile.

With shaking hands he touched his torso, and he was delighted to feel the skin of his lean body underneath his fingertips. This was real, this was actually happening. _God had tempered judgment with mercy, at last._ He had scarcely dared to hope that his death would reverse the curse, but here he was; in his human form. 

But then he remembered – he was at the castle, and it was still dark outside. It was _his_ panting he could hear, and underneath his fingertips he had felt the steady and strong beating of his _own_ heart. But if he was truly alive, and if the curse had been lifted, then –

He slowly turned around. He didn’t know if Belle would still be there, if she had witnessed his transformation. He knew that Belle was an intelligent, open-minded woman, who wasn’t easily impressed by anything, but only so many things could be logically explained, even by the most educated scholar.  
  
He gasped as his gaze fell on the woman he loved. Belle still stood there, motionless. Her tear-stained cheeks and red eyes a silent reminder of what had transpired earlier. He saw a lot of emotions in her eyes, but none of them were fear. Then, slowly, she took a tentative step towards him, as if she was afraid that he would vanish into thin air if she moved too quickly. 

He felt like his heart could burst as he tried to catch his breath. How he longed to close the distance between them, to take her in his arms and never let her go ever again. But he knew better than that, and so he mentally admonished himself to remain where he was, hoping that his eyes would speak for themselves as much as Belle’s did to him. 

With a small smile on her lips, Belle came closer and closer, her eyes taking in the man that stood before her. Carefully, she lifted her right hand and laid her palm along the angle of his jaw, her fingertips lightly caressing his stubbled cheek. And as human skin touched human skin, flesh against flesh, the man before her released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Then, Belle looked up into his eyes once more, and her eyes showed him what he so longed to see – she had realized he was indeed the very same person who had lain dying in her arms mere minutes ago. He reached out for her then, unable to keep still any longer. And while his fingers softly brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, a sob escaped her lips as her smile widened. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and the look of pure love.

Slowly, wanting the moment to last forever but at the same time yearning to finally be as close to her as he possibly could, he lowered his face closer to hers. She automatically turned her face upwards towards his, her lips slightly parted. Locking his gaze with hers, he halted for a moment, hesitating. Allowing her the opportunity to step back if she wanted to. Because if there was one thing he was sure of, it was the fact that he wanted to take things slowly, to give her all the time she needed. He would do things differently now. It was the least he could do, because she had changed him; he was a changed man because of her. He owed her that much.

But his doubts and hesitations were for nothing; the young woman was just as eager to be close to him, and as she rose on her tiptoes, she leaned into him and pressed her lips against his. Over the previous weeks, the young man had become accustomed to her fearless nature, he even admired her for it, but for some reason he had been unprepared of the fervor she expressed right now. After a mere second he overcame his surprise and delighted in the enthusiastic press of her lips against his, and he leisurely let his hands wander; one hand travelled from her cheek to the back of her head, to angle her lips more fully against his, the other rested on her waist. Then, both hands travelled to her shoulders, caressing the soft cap sleeves of her underdress and her upper arms. Her hands moved simultaneously from his jaw and neck to his waist, and as she held him tightly, they deepened the kiss.

“You love me”, he whispered huskily as they came up for air. After clearing his throat, his eyes searched hers before he repeated the words in a much more confident way. Belle blinked as her mind raced to keep up with what was happening. His voice, though not as deep as the Beast’s, was undoubtedly his. It suited him, and hearing his voice for the first time somehow sent tremors down her spine, something she had never experienced before in real life.

The short sentence, or rather the way he phrased it, caught her off-guard. It wasn’t a question, he said it so matter-of-factly that it seemed as if, to him at least, it was an indisputable fact.

Belle knew in her heart that it was true; she loved him. She may have loved him for a long time now, but hadn’t realized it until the moment he had stopped breathing, laying motionless in her arms. The recent events had blurred together in her memory. Their dance in the ballroom, her father being assaulted and nearly sent away to an asylum by the villagers of Villeneuve, her sudden flight from the castle, and her subsequent return.. only to find the one place, the one man she felt she belonged to, was no longer. When she was with him, everything fell into place. He was the only one who accepted her as she was, and not only that, he encouraged her. All her life, she had not belonged anywhere; instead she had longed for the unknown, to live her life and face adventures far away from that dull provincial life. She knew in her heart she was destined for so much more than that.

And she had found her ‘so much more’ in him. So yes, she loved him. And yes, she had professed her love to him, but she was certain that there was no way he could have heard her stammering the words out loud; his eyes had already lost their glow then, his heart had stopped beating against the palm of her hand, his soul had already lost his body and there was no way that she could ever shake away the empty feeling she had felt in that moment; her eyes and mind had not fooled her, of that she was absolutely certain.

But now, the man in front of her looked at her in earnest, patiently waiting for her to gather her thoughts. His eyes were so blue she felt like she could get lost in them. She shook her head a little to clear her thoughts, but wasn’t very successful. “Wait, what-”, the emotions that knotted her throat choked off her voice and she was unable to finish her sentence. Sensing her sudden unease, he impulsively flexed his fingers, which helped steady her.

“It was your love for me that broke the spell,” he started to explain in a gentle voice, his eyes never leaving hers. “When the enchantress cursed us all, she told me that the only way it could be lifted was by me opening up my heart and learning how to love, and earn love in return.” His gaze then veered from her face towards the side table, which had once held the glass dome in which the rose had slowly withered all those years.

“As you know, our time was almost past,” he continued, his voice softer than before, “there was only one petal left, and–”.

“And you sacrificed the one chance you had by sending me away?” Belle bristled, unable to keep the angry tremor from her voice. “You let me go, knowing the consequences, thus dooming your staff, dooming _yourself,_ ” she nearly spat out, “for all eternity?” The man nodded, his clear eyes burning into hers, silently imploring her to understand that he _had_ to, there simply was no other way.

“Yes. I had to.”

“But why?”

“Don’t you see, Belle? You taught me to love again; it is you who opened up my heart. You understood me, stood by me, even after all the terrible things I had said and done to you. You challenge me in a way no one else ever had the courage to, and after everything that had happened, you still came back…” The last words hung in the air between them for a few seconds, and all they could do was stare at each other. The silence seemed to stretch for hours, before Belle finally lowered her head, tears in her eyes. The young man reached out to her, placed a gentle finger against her chin and slowly lifted it. And as their eyes met once again, she nodded, fresh tears making their way down her cheeks. But before they could drip down her jaw and chin, he softly wiped them away with the pad of his thumb. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Yes, I do love you.”

She then slipped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, and while she rested her cheek against his shoulder, she closed her eyes in content. His arms tightened protectively around her, and he pressed a few gentle kisses on her hair.

“I’ll tell you everything there is to know Belle, I promise. But all in due time. I reckon everything is back to normal now,” he muttered, as he looked around him, drinking in the beauty of his newly restored home, “and they’re all waiting for you.”

Hearing her sharp intake of breath as she remembered her friends who were undoubtedly still downstairs, he took her hands in his and unclasped them from behind his back. Then, he took her left hand in his right and started to lead her into his rooms, eager to race down the stairs with her and find his faithful friends, his family. But before they made it inside, she tugged at his hand. Slowing down, thinking he must have been walking to fast for her smaller legs to keep up with him, he kept his gaze fixed upon the other end of the room, where the door that led to the hallway was. It was her clear voice that halted him, eventually.

“Wait.”

The young man turned around again, the intense gleam in his eyes showing her his sudden uncertainty. “What is it?”

Smiling brightly, her flushed cheeks seemed to enhance the glow in her brown eyes as she looked up at him, a mischievous smile playing on her kiss-reddened lips. “So.. you love me?”

She had meant to sound hesitant and innocent, but failed miserably. Her lips trembled as she tried to suppress her smile. Looking down at her affectionately, the young man almost reverently took her face between his hands. “Oh, Belle…” he muttered, and once again he let his lips settle warmly on hers, making them both lose themselves in their passionate kiss. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support through kudos, reviews, favourites, etc. It truly means a lot! I love to hear your thoughts and ideas, so please keep them coming.

After a while, when their lungs begged them to come up for air, they broke their kiss to press their foreheads against each other and stare into the other’s eyes. Brown met blue, and for a moment which seemed to last an eternity, each other’s presence was all they were aware of. Slightly panting, Belle stepped out of his embrace and brought her hands to his face, her fingers tentatively reaching for his blonde locks. Though his shoulder length hair was soft and wore a subtly masculine scent, it was slightly dishevelled due to _recent events_.

She chuckled softly as she carefully combed her fingers through his thick hair. Sighing, the young man leaned into her touch, revelling in the gentle pressure of her fingernails against his scalp and her body’s closeness to his. 

To her chagrin, Belle noticed that certain tangles in his hair refused to cooperate. As she let her eyes wander across the newly transformed bedroom in the West Wing, her gaze fell upon the porcelain water basin and pitcher standing on a mahogany basin stand near the dressing table. With a small smile on her lips, Belle moved towards it, pulling the young man with her.

The dressing table, adorned with an elaborate design, was a piece of furniture that really caught the eye – the shiny mahogany wood matched that of the basin stand, the cloth that covered the surface was richly embroidered with flowers, birds and leaves, the colours seemingly alive. Everything around her made the false impression as if it had been recently polished and had been used regularly up until this day, which she knew was not true. On top of the linen cloth stood various bottles of cologne and powder boxes, along with neatly aligned brushes of different sizes lying on the side. In the centre lay a beautifully carved ivory set of a hairbrush and a comb, the intricate design reminding her of the beautiful hand mirror he had given her mere moments before she had left the castle to rush to Villeneuve in order to save her father.

Picking up the ivory hairbrush, a strong sense of déja vù set in as she closely inspected the beautifully carved details on the handle and on the back. A ghost of a smile playing on her lips, she turned towards the water basin and picked up the pitcher to pour some water into the basin so she could dip the brush into it a couple of times. Motioning for him to sit on the chair that stood in front of the dressing table, Belle moved towards the dressing table again while the prince obliged and sat down, his eyes locking with hers in the mirror.

“What are you smiling about?” the young man asked, his eyes glowing with amusement. Seeing her happiness so clearly displayed on her face, the slight blush on her cheeks and the unmistakable glow of serene bliss in her eyes, gave him more joy than he could have ever imagined. Knowing that he was the reason of this all humbled him. It was a feeling that was alien to him, and he was pleasantly surprised by it.

“You know, during my first night here, when Lumière and Cogsworth showed me to my room? I picked up a hairbrush and asked for their name. It was just a plain hairbrush though,” Belle replied, as she almost reverently started to brush his hair, smoothing it back and admiring its softness once again. His low soft chuckle felt like a caress, sending a delicious shiver down her spine, which seemed to enhance the gentle flutter in her stomach.

The rays of sunlight that fell into the room through the open door and windows seemed to enhance the highlights in his hair, illuminating the golden silky treats that danced around his shoulders and flowed through her small fingers. Satisfied with her work, Belle took a step backwards, one hand holding the brush, the other hand planted on her hip.

The young man sat unmoving, his eyes watching her intently through the mirror. Belle smiled at him as she leaned forward to lay the brush back. “There,” she said. “You’re decent enough.”

Taking the brush in his hand, he turned in his chair towards her, wanting to return the favor, but before he could invite her to sit down in his place, she shook her head in refusal. “No,” she said matter-of-factly, “what’s the point?”

She took the brush from his hand and laid the brush back at its spot on the dressing table. A mischievous grin tugging at her lips, she stretched out her hands towards his to pull him to his feet. “You, my Prince, need to look at your best. Me, on the other hand…” Belle rolled her eyes, as she frequently did, and sighed. “I am just an ordinary farm girl who fell in love with a man.”

The prince opened his mouth to contradict her, but the sudden pressure of her fingers around his stopped him. How he wanted to tell her that that was not true. Though he knew well enough she was jesting, that she valued herself as much more than ‘just an ordinary farm girl’ as she put it, he longed to tell her how he really saw her. That he valued her above any rank imaginable. What good were ranks and titles in the end anyway? What truly mattered was a pure heart and soul and the ability to see past someone’s exterior and faults. She had done so with him, and by that she had presented him with a gift he had given up on a long time ago; a second chance at life.

“And despite what you said earlier, I am certain it is _you_ they are eager to see, not me.”

Gently pulling him into the direction of the door that lead to the staircase, Belle turned away from him but stopped in her tracks almost immediately after that. She faced him once more and reached out to cup his cheek. Gone was her playfulness and self-mockery. Belle was her serious and curious self again.

“Promise me you’ll tell me everything?”

“As soon as possible,” he promised, and he meant it. Though he was eager to meet them, to have Belle by his side and walk into a new life, not just for him and Belle, but for all of them, he wanted nothing more than to tell her everything, everything that had lead to this. For so long, the truth had been an invisible barrier between them, because the only way to break the curse was by Belle to fall in love with him without any prior knowledge about the conditions. Now that that barrier was finally out of the way, he wanted every other possible obstacle that could hinder their love out of the way as well. He knew that this exquisite woman loved him, despite his flaws and despite what he had been, and that was enough.

They quickly walked towards the grand staircase that would lead them to the main entrance. When they reached the landing that connected the two flights of stairs that granted access to the East and West Wings, the sounds of laughter and jubilant cheers from outside grew louder and louder. They halted for a moment to look at each other one last time before they’d have to share each other with the crowd outside, their faces glowing with happiness and pure love. With a final glimpse and a stolen kiss on the corner of her mouth, the young prince straightened his back and walked towards the open doors, and into the sun.

The first thing they saw was the enormous crowd of people that had assembled in the castle’s front yard, and even more people were making their way towards the castle through the massive surrounding gardens. They heard people crying out to each other, cries of laughter and wonder. The prince’s eyes scanned the crowd, which quickly parted in front of him and Belle as he heard some of the people gasp in astonishment. Some men took their tricornes from their heads as a sign of respect, others were so astonished that they gaped and pointed at him, while several women curtsied as they walked by.

The parting crowd revealed a man and a woman standing next to each other, looking in their direction. The woman’s eyes widened in realization and she touched the man’s arm to draw his attention. The man straightened his back before bowing deeply from the waist down, making an elegant gesture with his hand as he joyfully exclaimed, “Ah, my prince!”

The prince let go of Belle’s hand to step forward and embrace the other man. “Hello, old friend,” he replied happily, before enveloping the other man in a tight embrace. They laughed together, a sound Belle thought she would never tire of hearing. The older man, Lumière, Belle realized after hearing the former candelabra’s unmistakable cheerful voice, gladly hugged him back. “It’s so good to see you!”

Belle gazed fondly at the two men, and smiled. She then turned her attention towards the beautiful woman in front of her, who she was certain was the former feather duster, Plumette.

Plumette’s smile mirrored Belle’s as she watched the two men and then turned her attention towards Belle. The two women curtsied, and Belle thought her heart would burst with joy at Plumette’s joyful exclamation, “You saved our lives, mademoiselle!”

For Belle, the introductions that followed directly after that all blurred together. A boy came running towards her, calling out her name and introducing himself as Chip. Belle happily embraced the child and noticed Jean the potter, who stood next to a woman who looked fondly at Chip. Belle instinctively knew that the woman, whose tender eyes were filled with the glow motherly love, was Mrs. Potts. Monsieur Jean, Belle thought to herself, had finally found what had been lost to him for so long; his family.

The prince, who was still talking to Lumière, was joined by an older man whose uniform resembled that of a military man. He bowed curtly, but with a heartfelt smile on his face. The prince embraced him happily the moment he caught sight of him. Mme Clothilde stood nearby. Her cheeks were covered in red spots and she was breathing heavily as she nervously wringed a handkerchief between her hands.

After Belle had been formally introduced to Mme de Garderobe, Maestro Cadenza and their dog Froufrou, the prince and the others joined them. “Belle,” the prince said to her, “I’d like you to meet my majordomo, Henri Cogsworth.” Belle smiled at the older man, who proudly stuck out his chest and, by that, his rather large midsection as well.

It was a rather comical sight, but Belle was too relieved to finally make their acquaintance in a proper way to notice.

Cogsworth closed his eyes and cleared his throat, and he formally addressed her, as if he had his little speech memorised since the moment she had come to the castle to rescue her father from his cell.

“Mademoiselle, on behalf of the entire household as well as, um, myself, I offer you our infinite gratitude. Words cannot express how thankful we are, to be our human selves again, and to be reunited by our loved ones.” Mme Clothilde’s wailing seemed to bring him to his senses again. Rolling his eyes, he humbly excused himself to comfort his estranged wife.

“Belle!” A familiar deep voice caught Belle’s attention, and she smiled fondly at the man who climbed the stairs towards her. Reluctantly letting go of the prince’s hand, she made her way towards the newcomer. “Père Robert!”

The village chaplain, who had been the only person in the village, apart from her own father of course, who had encouraged her love for reading, looked tired. The lines that bracketed his mouth seemed deeper than usual, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. It occurred to Belle that he seemed to have aged a lot since the last time she had seen him in the church.

“My child,” Père Robert murmured, and he took a step backwards to look at her properly. “Are you well? We were so worried…”

“I am fine. Perfectly fine,” Belle assured him, and her eyes told him it was true. There was something different about her, the clergyman thought, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He had seen her happy before, when he’d tell her he had received new books for her to borrow, or when they had the time to discuss their favourite literature when she stopped by to help him clean the church building from time to time.

“My father…” Belle said, suddenly unsure. Though she had left him in relatively good health at the village square in Villeneuve, she was not completely certain he was safe now. Père Robert immediately took her fears away as he laid his hands on her upper arms. “He’s well, I brought him here with me.”

“The villagers, in their raid, spared the church’s small livestock. Rachal, our old mare, stood safely in her stall when I reached her. Though old, she is strong. She was able to carry us both and brought us here,” he proudly explained, and Belle felt like she could cry with joy. She looked back, and smiled at her prince. In her joy to be reunited with her father once again, she didn’t see the small, uncertain smile he gave her in response, and neither did she see the way he clenched his jaw.

Not wanting to waste another minute, Belle shot forward and raced towards the stairs where père Robert had come from. She quickly reached the top of the stairs, and sure enough she saw her father standing at the bottom. The emotions on his face changed from worry to joy as he noticed his daughter standing there, so close, so alive. Tears brimmed her eyes as Belle practically flew down the stairs, her arms stretched out towards him.

“Papa!”

She lay in his embrace, his large calloused hands holding her close to him. She smelled his familiar scent, one she had missed for so long, and as the rough stubble on his cheeks scraped against her skin, she felt completely whole again. She had found love, and was finally reunited with her father.

“Belle,” Maurice murmured, cupping the back of her head with the palm of his hand, pressing a tender kiss on her hair. “Are you all right, _ma petite_?”

Before she could respond, Maurice held her at arm’s length, his watchful gaze shifting from head to toe. Satisfied that he could not find any sign of outer damage, he looked at her, and she smiled encouragingly at him. “I am well, papa.”

It was difficult for the older man to keep his emotions in check. Though he knew his daughter was fearless, just like her mother, he couldn’t help but constantly worry about her safety. After all, she was all he had left and his world and so he saw it as his duty to worry about her, for the rest of his life. 

Words could not describe his happiness – he had found his daughter, and she was unharmed. Yet there was something about her, something he could not put into words easily. She was practically glowing. As if the sun had come out on a cloudy day. Which reminded him…

“Belle, what happened here?” Maurice looked around, taking in his surroundings as if he was truly seeing its magnificence just now. A look of astonishment crossed his face as they ascended the stairs. The staff members and their master still stood where Belle had left them. At the top of the stairs, Belle turned her back towards the small crowd that was anxiously waiting for them, offering her father her hand.

“Papa… There is so much I need to tell you, so much that I cannot tell you yet because I do not know the details myself,” she told him, her voice slightly shaking. Stepping backwards, she led her father onto the front yard. “But there is someone I need you to meet first, or rather, meet _again_. Papa,” Belle turned towards them again, a smile playing on her lips as her eyes sought her prince. “This is...”

Out of nowhere, Belle gasped loudly and then fell silent. Her eyes widened in shock, she let go of her father’s hand and both of her hands moved upwards to cover her mouth. She blanched, and a bright red blush rose from her bosom to her cheeks. The prince furrowed his brows, alarmed, because whatever was the matter now, it clearly had something to do with him, judging by the way she was looking at him.

Maurice looked at the blond man standing in front of him, and then at Belle who stood stock-still between them, her back turned towards him, stiff and slightly trembling.

“Belle?” Both men asked simultaneously, and the frown between their eyebrows deepened.

It was as if she had lost the ability to speak. Her mind was blank and her heart was racing erratically. How could she have missed this? For so many weeks, she had named him ‘the Beast’ in her head, over and over again. Because that was what he’d been – a beast. Surely she had known he was actually a prince, not only because of Mrs. Potts’s slip of tongue or Mme de Garderobe’s enthusiastic exclaim that she was undoubtedly a princess, but also because of her surroundings, the various portraits that hung on the castle walls, the expensive education he had gotten in his youth… The signs were countless, and they had all been there, right in front of her very eyes.

But never, during her initial stay at the castle and since her subsequent return had she learned or inquired what his name was. She hadn’t asked, hadn’t done her usual thorough research she’d always do when certain subjects caught her attention and piqued her curiosity. She had done nothing. It felt like a failure, an inexcusable error on her part. She had been so lost in the moment, lost in her love for him, his presence, the fact that he was alive and that he loved her in return, that she hadn’t even wondered, not for a second, what his actual name was.

A breathless sound escaped her trembling lips, and the astonished look on her face melted away to reveal a smile, followed by a giggle that soon turned into contagious laughter.

The prince, unsure of what to do or say, took a step towards her and reached out for her, as she hiccupped: “I don’t even know your name. We’ve never been formally introduced.” The humour of the situation, as well as Belle’s melodious laughter, made his lips twitch.

Cogsworth, who had returned to the small assembled group after he had somewhat successfully tried to comfort Mme Clothilde, made use of the situation and took it upon himself to introduce his master. He stepped forward so he stood next to the prince, with his hands clasped behind his back and his lips pursed. He obviously felt quite illustrious, the way he stood there. As the majordomo dramatically cleared his throat, Lumière rolled his eyes at Plumette and they shared a knowing smile, as they often did when Cogsworth was being pompous.

“Mademoiselle, it is a great honour and pleasure to introduce you to _sa Grâce_ , Louis-Armand Matthieu, duc de Villeneuve-sur-Lot. As a member of the House of Bourbon-Orléans, a cadet branch of the reigning House of Bourbon, he is a member of the royal family and therefore a _Prince du Sang_.”

A heavy silence remained when Cogsworth finally finished. The prince only had eyes for Belle, trying to gauge her reaction. Belle didn’t respond, she only blinked once, then twice.

“Adam,” the prince murmured, finally breaking the silence. Stepping forward once more, he halted in front of Belle, taking both her hands in his. “My name is Adam,” he explained matter-of-factly, as if this explanation would suddenly make more sense to her.

“Adam,” Belle replied, her voice clear and steady, yet at the same time sounding slightly abiding as if she had to get used to tasting his name on her lips. Deciding that she liked the sound of it, a lot more than his official title and rank, she smiled broadly at him and repeated his name with confidence. To his great delight, Adam found that he would never tire of hearing his name from her lips ever again.  

Maurice took a few steps until he stood right next to his daughter, and bowed. The sudden movement in front of him seemed to bring Adam to his senses, and within seconds, Adam was at eye level with Maurice, to which Cogsworth audibly gasped in astonishment. You could almost hear the older man mentally admonishing his employer. _A man of royal blood simply did not bow for commoners._

“ _Non, monsieur, je vous en prie,_ ” Adam whispered in a low voice, so low only Maurice could hear him. “It is I who should lay myself down at your feet, begging your forgiveness for the wrong I did to you. Not just for what happened that day when I made you my prisoner and I let Belle take your place, but for all the suffering I caused you since then, by separating you from your daughter and leaving you at the hands of people who didn’t know any better than to think you mad.”

Maurice’s head shot upwards, realizing what those words meant and what the young man in front of him was actually trying to tell him. Their eyes met, blue on blue, one pair of them searching the other for answers, while the other pair of eyes was pleading for understanding, acceptance and forgiveness. Seeing those piercing blue eyes, Maurice realized that the man before him indeed resembled the beast he knew, at least in his eyes. His eyebrows shot up as almost every piece of the puzzle clicked into place; the younger man’s earnestness, the sudden changes he had witnessed in his daughter, the happiness of the place and how everyone who was present seemed to be gravitated towards the young prince, to his charm and the energy and unmistakable happiness that he radiated.

“I knew you had changed when Belle told me that you let her go and sent her back to me, but I never dreamed that _this_ -”

“Thanks to Belle I had changed, yes, but not yet physically,” Adam explained while a flush crawled up his cheeks. Lumière, sensing his master’s unease, finished his sentence before he could continue.

“You see, monsieur, in order to break the curse and become human again, the master had to learn to love someone within a limited period of time,” After a meaningful silence, the maître’d locked eyes with Belle as he spoke further. “And that person had to fall in love with him as well.”

“By setting Belle free, he proved his love for her without having to actually say the words. Then she returned, and now we are all human again. All thanks to her.”

This revelation had its desired effect on the crowd. People audibly gasped and instinctively looked at their loved ones who had been lost to them for so long. The affirmative nods and smirks they received as a reply made them look at the young couple, and Belle in particular, with different eyes. Most people didn’t notice Mme Clothilde’s soft whimper, except for Cogsworth who immediately understood something was amiss by the way his wife reacted to that bit of information.

Belle, in the meantime, had moved closer to Adam to reach out over his shoulder for his hand. Gratefully taking her hand in his, Adam released a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding, taking the comfort he needed from her reassuring presence behind him. Maurice immediately saw how the expression in Adam’s eyes changed, and how those eyes began to twinkle. Deciding he knew enough for now, Maurice reached out and grasped Adam by his forearms, just below the elbow. Together, they rose to their feet.

Though he accepted Lumière’s explanation and believed it to be true, he had to make sure. After all, he was still a father who wanted to protect his daughter.

“You love my daughter?”

Adam nodded, and the grip he had on Belle’s hand momentarily tightened. “Very much, sir.”

“And Belle? Do you love him?”

Belle smiled up to her father with tears in her eyes. “Yes, Papa.”

Maurice smiled, and nodded. “That is all that matters to me.”

“I trust there is more to all this and that you both will explain to me what happened to bring all this on,” Maurice frowned slightly as only determined, inquisitive fathers would. But he’d let it rest, for now. They all had been through a lot, and this could wait a little longer. 

Both young people nodded solemnly, and Belle looked at Adam. The answer she saw in his eyes at her unspoken question, the answer that echoed his earlier promise, assured her once more. _As soon as possible_.  

A sudden commotion caught their attention as agitated whispers caught their ears. Turning towards the sound, they saw Cogsworth come into view, dragging his resisting wife by her arm, inching her closer towards them.

Mme Clothilde was muttering something unintelligible and was clearly distressed. Belle wondered if it was because of Cogsworth’s harsh grip on her upper arm or if it had to do with something entirely else. Either way, Cogsworth’s face was dark with fury, and there was no doubt that it was directed towards his wife. He pushed her away from him as if her touch burned him and he couldn’t bear her proximity any longer. Stumbling, she caught herself midstep and just stood there, with her husband behind her and Belle and Adam in front of her. She turned her head away and closed her eyes, visibly ashamed.

“Henri,” she started to plead with her husband, but he immediately cut her off.

“In God’s name woman, say what you have to say.”

Cogsworth’s gruff voice seemed to echo off the castle’s mighty walls, the tremors seemingly enhancing his wife’s shuddering. Taking in a shaky breath, Mme Clothilde clenched her hands in front of her abdomen and looked up to the sky as if she hoped for some Divine Intervention. Alas, nothing happened.

After a brief moment in which she tried to collect all the strength she could muster, Mme Clothilde lowered her head and closed her red-rimmed eyes in shame, not daring to look Belle in the eyes.

“Belle, I… Words cannot describe how thankful I am,” she spoke, her voice so much softer and sounding almost childlike, unlike the usual sound of her voice. “You unknowingly restored my husband to me, brought families back together, all thanks to the goodness in your heart.”

Silent tears trickled down her cheeks, and Mme Clothilde had to inhale deeply to try and compose herself before she continued. “And though you did not do it for me personally, I also know I most likely don’t deserve your goodness. Because of what I did to you, that day at the fountain…”

Belle felt Adam tense beside her, but he didn’t say anything. He momentarily looked at Belle, searching for a reaction or a possible explanation in her eyes, but found none. Instead, Belle’s eyes mirrored his own, silently giving him the exact same promise as he had done before; she’d tell him _as soon as possible_. Now was not the time.

“And I most certainly do not deserve your forgiveness,” Mme Clothilde continued, unaware of her surroundings, as she gave voice to every thought of unworthiness and remorse. “Nevertheless, I humbly express my remorse for what happened and for what I have done, back then and last night as well. I can’t speak for the others, though I am sure they feel the exact same way as I do; I humbly apologize.”

Without looking up, she then turned towards Maurice, expressing the very same heartfelt apologies for what he had suffered and for had transpired earlier. When she had finished, Mme Clothilde stood almost motionless; the wringing hands and her laboured breathing were the only movements and sounds she made. Not wanting to waste another moment, Belle stepped forwards and gently took the older woman’s calloused hands in hers, waiting for her to meet her eyes as she soothingly traced circles on her knuckles with the pads of her thumbs.

“Madame,” Belle whispered, feeling the other woman’s distress radiating from her. Mme Clothilde responded by finally looking up, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Belle knew instinctively that her remorse was genuine, and though she may be unable to make Mme Clothilde understand her point of view, she could try to convince the woman to meet her halfway, despite their differences.

“Madame, I forgive you. Let us forget this unhappy memory and move on,” Belle proposed, still holding the other woman’s hands in hers, gently squeezing as if to emphasize her words. “Though you and I have different ideas and opinions about certain things, let us put aside our differences and accept each other for who we are and focus on what we have in common. Let us rejoice in our new- and refound happiness, Madame.”

Mme Clothilde’s eyes widened at Belle’s words, obviously amazed by the fact that she was – in her own eyes at least – so easily forgiven for her wrongdoings. Belle was indeed a remarkable woman, she thought to herself, and while she still thought that Belle was a bit too far ahead of her time for her own good when it came to certain things, she vowed to herself that she would keep her opinions to herself from this day forward. If not for herself, then for her husband whom she loved dearly.

Smiling gratefully, Mme Clothilde responded to Belle’s gentle squeeze by squeezing back, both of them trying to hold back their tears as they looked at each other. Then, both women shifted their gazes towards the men they loved, and all was well.

Multiple people then came forward, following Mme Clothilde’s example, and expressed their repentance to Adam, Belle and her father.

After a while, uneven footsteps shuffled into Adam’s earshot, and as he looked into the direction where the sound came from, he saw a short, round man coming his way, who halted right in front of him and bowed.

“Your Highness, my name is LeFou,” the man introduced himself, and Adam nodded in response. “I wanted to ask you… the man who came to kill you, Gaston…”

“A friend of yours?” Adam inquired, not entirely out of curiosity or obligation, but just because he had to know who he was dealing with – he didn’t even know the man who was standing in front of him right now.

“No, sir. Not… Not anymore,” LeFou stammered, suddenly very interested in rubbing off the specks of dust on his cravat, too embarrassed to look his prince in the eye. “God I’m so sorry,” the man sniffed, suddenly overcome by emotion.

“The young man here stood up against him,” Mrs. Potts explained, who suddenly stood right next to LeFou, “He fought on our side after that horrid man used him as a human shield and left him behind, not caring whether the lad lived or died.” Looking at LeFou with a motherly gaze, she added, “He was unworthy of your friendship, dearie.” 

LeFou grimaced, but was nevertheless grateful for the fact that she helped him explain. After all, you don’t storm a castle every day intent on killing a beast who later turns out to be the _Châtelain_. Now that he thought about it, LeFou didn’t have quite the experience in asking said _Châtelain_ for his forgiveness and, while he was at it, if he did happen to see the man who had tried to kill him, and if he, by any chance, knew where said (obviously unsuccessful) killer was at this very moment…

 Adam’s features softened, feeling sorry for the man standing in front of him. No matter how he hated to think about it and let himself relive parts of it, he had his own experience regarding abuse. Where LeFou’s abuser had been his best friend, in Adam’s case it had been his own father. The man had died years ago, finally freeing Adam from the suffering of living underneath the yoke of his controlling father’s indifference and brutality. Still, those wounds still stung when the scabs were being prodded, and he knew instinctively that the man in front of him had a long way to go.

“This Gaston, he led you all here?” Adam asked, gently laying his hand on LeFou’s shoulder to lead him closer towards the castle. They were joined by Père Robert, who had overheard their conversation.

“Captain Gaston,” Père Robert said, “A man who basked in the old glory days of the war. He never truly accepted that those days were over.”

Lost in thought, Adam halted and placed both his hands on LeFou’s shoulders to draw his attention and to steady him for what was to come.

“Gaston didn’t make it,” Adam said in a low voice, his eyes peering into LeFou’s, whose facial expression seemed to be set in stone. “The castle was slowly crumbling apart under the heavy burden of the curse. When he fired his gun at me a second time, the impact must have further damaged the already frail footbridge on which he stood, until it gave way under his weight. I did not see him fall, but I could hear the marble crumbling,” Adam explained, purposefully withholding his recollection of how he heard Gaston scream as the man fell to his death. 

LeFou took the news well, at least on the outside. Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, the man looked up to his prince with clenched fists, a brave sort of smile on his lips. Whatever had happened, he would not break in front of prince Adam. Deciding it was in LeFou’s best interest to act, Adam turned towards the castle again and continued making his way towards the front doors.

Close to those doors stood Adam’s trusted aide-de-camp and former childhood tutor, Chapeau. Shaking each other’s hands the two men joyfully greeted each other. After that, Adam’s face sobered as he gave his aide instructions.

“Chapeau, I need you to gather a few strong men to search the castle grounds for the remains of a man. The last time I saw him, he stood on a footbridge just outside the West Wing, close to my chambers. He fell down after the footbridge collapsed, you’ll probably find his corpse at the foot of the tower,” Adam told him, keeping his voice down.

“After you have found him, I need you to cover his body and lay him on a stretcher. If needed, you can load him onto a wagon and harness two of our swiftest horses so he can be transported back to Villeneuve and the local authorities.”

Chapeau nodded and immediately followed his master’s orders. Adam turned towards LeFou and Père Robert who were standing nearby, having heard the prince’s orders. Shifting his attention to the village chaplain, Adam walked towards them.

“Father, you told me monsieur Gaston served in the army and received the rank of Captain. If he righteously deserved that title, then he must have served our country well, in which case he deserves a proper burial befitting his rank.”

Adam clenched and unclenched his jaw before he continued, “Though I cannot say I agree with it, it is the proper thing to do and so it shall be done, if that is what the local notables wish. From the moment his body leaves the castle grounds, he will no longer be my responsibility. It is up to you and the villagers of Villeneuve to decide whether or not he deserves a military funeral.”

If he was being honest to himself, he didn’t care whether the villagers decided they’d rather bury him in an unmarked grave or burn his body and discard his ashes in the Lot that flowed just outside the village. Either way, they had his blessing. He thought it better not to say those words out loud though, especially not now when the clearly struggling LeFou was near.

Père Robert nodded, and instinctively understood the prince’s internal conflict. Promising the matter would be taken care of, Père Robert hurried after Chapeau and his men.

LeFou, who had become quite pale in the last couple of minutes, thanked the prince once again. Feeling sorry for the man, Adam offered him to stay at the castle if he wished to.

“If you’d rather join the search party or travel back to Villeneuve with them to pay your respects, you’re free to do so. I do not hold it against you. You’re free to go, and free to stay if you’d like.” 

Adam then addressed the crowd, and his servants in particular, offering them and their families a place to stay at the castle or one of the outbuildings for the coming days, or the possibility of paid leave for a week - or longer - if they wished. They had been separated from their loved ones for far too long, and he wanted to offer them the possibility to make up for lost time.

As if on cue, people began to leave the front yard, looking for some privacy or a place to rest. The servants who remained ensured that everything proceeded in an orderly manner. Adam, Belle and Maurice were the only ones left.

Eager to show Belle’s father some hospitality, Adam graciously offered Maurice a vacant suite in the East Wing, close to where his daughter’s lodgings were. Unwilling to decline the kind offer, Maurice happily accepted. The last couple of weeks had drained him, and he was desperately in need of a good night’s sleep, despite the fact that the sun was still high in the sky. At this point, Maurice didn’t care much if he would have to sleep on a small bale of hay or on the cold marble floor. Of course, the offered alternative was very alluring, so he didn’t have to think twice.

“And you, my love, need to rest as well. You’re practically out on your feet,” Adam carefully took Belle by her arm to lead her towards the staircase. Had she been more awake, she would have protested because the last thing she wanted was to be separated by her prince.

The young couple followed Maurice up the stairs, and through Adam’s directions, the three of them reached the door to Maurice’s suite. After having said good night, the older man hurriedly made his way inside the room, too tired to stop and make sure his daughter entered her suite unaccompanied as propriety demanded.

“Are you going to retire as well?” Belle asked, even though Adam’s energetic step betrayed the man was far from being fatigued. It seemed as if the final transformation had given him a new source of energy, and though it amazed Belle, it also bothered her because she’d rather stay up and spend more time with him now that she had him all to herself.

As she expected, Adam shook his head. “I’m far from tired. Besides, there are a lot of things to be done that have been neglected for far too long. I need to catch up on some paperwork and while I’m on it, I might as well sort out some things that are long overdue, such as tax regulations...”

Leaning forward, Adam pressed a tender kiss on Belle’s forehead. “Sleep well, my love. I will see you when you wake.”

With this promise, he turned away and walked in the direction of the staircase that would lead him to the West Wing. Belle’s eyes followed him until he disappeared from view. When she could no longer hear his footsteps, Belle opened the door to her suite and stepped inside. Before she closed the door behind her, she quickly peeked into the hallway, her eyes scanning the empty space in which her prince had vanished. There was no one to be seen.

Sighing, Belle leaned against the door and closed it. She did feel rather tired, and her bed was a welcoming sight. Not bothering to draw the curtains to block out the sunlight, Belle tumbled onto her bed, fully clothed.

The moment her head hit the pillow, she was sound asleep.


End file.
